To Those Lost and Found
by boogiebhalasoulful
Summary: For the father who missed his children, the father who lost his son, and the father who ran out of time.


**A/N**: One of the quickest stories I've written, but I'm quite happy with it; guess it spoke to me in the spirit of the day. Happy Father's Day, everyone! Feedback is always appreciated.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Nurarihyon no Mago_, but I do adore the familial love that abounds within its pages.

**Dedicated to my father.** Thank you for your wisdom, your protection, and your love.

* * *

He hardly remembers.

He was young, too small and too inexperienced to fully grasp the meaning behind the casket and the prayers and tears.

"Your father is gone."

The words mean little until he sees his sister. She is lost, as usual, her tiny frame cloaked in a small, black kimono with pink petals, her fingers clutching their grandfather's hakama. There is no way for her to know the meaning of this day, to feel the weight that it hangs on their shoulders.

He's grateful for that. However futile the desire may be (even at his young age, he knows the reality of death), he hopes she'll never have to know the sorrow of lost loved ones. It's a wish he'd never admit aloud, but when he sits on the veranda, away from the proceedings inside, he sends it to the heavens. Maybe, he thinks, the gods will hear it.

_Give me the strength to carry them in my father's place. I want to protect them __**all**__._

"Ryuuji." He turns to see his grandfather standing in the doorway; Yura sleeps in his big arms, her fingers buried in his sleeves, and Ryuuji rolls his eyes at the light snore that escapes her lips.

"Dummy. I told her to go to bed early last night. She obviously didn't listen." Face set in the firm scowl that would stay with him for years, he marches to the pair and holds out his arms. "I'll take her."

Hidemoto gazes at the boy before bending; with careful movements, Yura is transferred from one set of arms to the other, and Hidemoto smiles as Ryuuji adjusts his hold to accommodate his sister's size; she's tiny, but so is he.

"Falling asleep like it's nothing. How embarrassing." Unconsciously tucking her hands into his kimono to protect them from the cool spring air, Ryuuji regards the tall man with a bow. "I'll put her to bed. Thank you for looking after her, grandfather." Without another word, the boy stalks away, muttering complaints under his breath to an oblivious Yura. Hidemoto's smile widens at the affection that marks the boy's tone, even as he flicks his sister's nose in punishment for her snoozing.

_I know you didn't wish to leave them so soon. I know you wanted to be there when Ryuuji became a man and Yura grew to shine like the jewel she is. From where you now are, I hope you still can. But even if you can't, let me tell you, my son, that they will be alright._

_They'll be just fine._

* * *

It is a father's duty to protect his child, to stand tall in times of strife, to offer wisdom in times of uncertainty. That is a father's purpose.

What can he say when his child is no longer here, having been struck down in his own home?

What can he say to his daughter-in-law, who kneels at the front of the precession, her loving face damp with tears? What can he say to his followers, who line the walkways, eyes downcast in grief?

What can he say to the small boy by his mother's side, innocent eyes unable to comprehend his surroundings?

Nothing. There is nothing he can say to lessen the blow of his failure. All he can do is stand vigil and silently ask for forgiveness.

What kind of father can't protect his child?

_Silly old man. There you go daydreaming again._

Nurarihyon breaks from his musings, mouth twitching in a smirk at the familiar tenor that sounds in his ear. "Don't mind me."

_I should have known; you're __**ancient**__. It's expected that you'll fall into the inane ramblings of the old and the senile at some point._

He snorts at his son's barb and lifts his cup to his lips; taking a drought of sake, he watches the pair in front of him and smirks. Rikuo leans forward, voice echoing with fondness, and guides a tiny hand to rest on the large gravestone before them.

Nurarihyon chuckles at the excited exclamation that the rock is warm and smooth to the touch; next to him, Rihan laughs aloud, his ghostly hand placing itself on his father's shoulder.

_You don't have the time to beat yourself up, you know. You've got a whole new generation to tell your stories to, and I'll be damned if my grandchild doesn't hear about my heroic triumphs! _

"Ah. I'll be sure to talk all about your failures." Rihan exclaims in offense, and Nurarihyon grins when his retort is interrupted by the wave of small, energetic hands and a high shout of "Jii-chan!"

"Coming," he calls, grabbing the jug of sake from the sunlit ground. Rihan whistles appreciatively.

_You grabbed the good stuff for me? I'm touched._ His father snorts.

"You only get half. The rest is for me." Rihan chuckles behind him as he strides to the gravesite, wrinkled hand lifted to ruffle the child's mess of hair. With a pop of the cork, he pours the liquid over the headstone, the cascade hitting the dry ground with a steady drum. As the waterfall wanes, he sighs with irritated surrender and empties the jug entirely, mourning the lightness of the jug. Rikuo blinks at him before laughing, and he rolls his eyes before re-corking the flagon and carrying it away. "Let's get out of here. I need to restock."

Rikuo nods before planting a hand on the moist stone, his eyes softening when the child in his arms copies his movements. "Happy Birthday, Dad. I promise we'll visit again soon."

Nurarihyon is already walking ahead when he feels a ghostly touch to his large dome, an affectionate pat that curves his mouth into a smile. At the same moment, Rikuo's hair is tousled in the summer breeze, and a warm smattering of sunlight illuminates the path they tread, guiding his great-grandchild's hopping steps.

_Take care, old man. And thanks.__  
_

* * *

He doesn't know where he went wrong.

On a cool day in autumn, he fell in love with a woman, one who contradicted everything his teachings stood for. He didn't stand a chance, and through the graces of the gods, he asked her to be his.

She accepted, her beast-yellow eyes shining in reflection to the love in his heart.

Perhaps that was the day he made his mistake. Perhaps he never should have taken that walk on the wooded path, paused to admire the red and gold leaves, and met the eyes of the youkai who would be the mother of his child.

He couldn't have known how it would all end; it doesn't stop the guilt from consuming him.

"Father?" The body in his arms is damaged beyond repair, the voice lost in a hoarseness that wrenches at his insides even as it fills him with protectiveness. He holds the body closer, runs a hand over the bloodied remains of a face that's so different from the one he remembers.

"Hush," he murmurs, not wanting to disturb the peace of their surroundings. "It's alright."

The irony is palpable; the moment he chose to lie with the woman who chose _him_, he guaranteed his child's duality, the two-toned road he would walk as both youkai and onmyouji. He knew what such a decision could mean, that it would affect not only himself, but all those who would follow.

He has no regret for the love he shared with Hagoromo-Gitsune, nor does he hold her responsible for the events that unfolded.

It is his sin to bear, that his son has been torn in half. It is his guilt to hold, that he can feel only gratitude to the person who did it.

Now, he can take proper responsibility.

"Father." The body in his arms is broken, but it still tries to press closer, seeking warmth. He sweeps away strange light-colored bangs and presses a kiss to a cool forehead.

"Don't speak," he soothes, "Save your strength."

"Forgive me." The voice trembles with a sincerity he has not heard since his death over a thousand years ago, when a strong hand gripped his wrinkled fingers and unchecked tears fell against the skin beneath his rheumy eyes.

He smiles faintly. "For what, my son?"

"I hurt Mother." His voice cracks in self-loathing. "I was supposed to protect her in your stead, and I betrayed her." The one eye he has left, so reminiscent of the woman he loved, leaks with blood and tears. "Forgive me."

Abe no Yasuna trails a hand over his son's face, wiping the tears away even as they dot the corners of his own eyes. "No forgiveness is needed. We understand." As a father, it is his cross to bear. Because of his mortality, he was unable to hold his son steady when the world crumbled from beneath his feet.

Right now, his son is not a man but a child, one that needs the touch of safety to remind him of his humanity. His body will never heal, but perhaps his heart will.

"Father…"

He places a gentle finger on his son's lips. "Hush now, Seimei. I am here." The boy finally goes quiet, his fitful breath slowly calming to a steady stream of air. Yasuna smiles, eyes brightening as he sees the approaching outline of his love in the darkness. "You're home."

For all those who despise his son, he can only ask that the hate they feel rest on his shoulders instead. A child's choices, while his own, will always involve the father who loves him.

It is a truth of this world, and he accepts it gladly.


End file.
